Page 54 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Elena

I stand in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My fingers brush over the fabric of my dress again, smoothing invisible creases.

It’s flawless. The high neckline grazes my throat, and the short sleeves balance the form-fitting bodice, before the skirt flares out into graceful folds that skim the mid-calf.

My hair is swept into a low bun with a few soft pieces framing my face.

It’s classic, appropriate, and exactly what the day demands.

Every detail feels like a final, deliberate touch, to the point that the reflection doesn’t feel like me—which, I suppose, is the point.

The house is quiet with Silas in his study down the hallway.

I can picture him with his phone pressed to his ear, speaking in that steady, commanding tone of his.

He’s been on calls almost constantly, and it sounds like the emergency board meeting will happen by the end of next week, if not sooner.

In days, Silas will be stepping up as CEO.

I glance back at the mirror, biting my lip. Is this enough? Do I look the part? Today isn’t about me, but I can’t shake the weight of what standing beside him means.

A pang of uncertainty coils in my chest, and I try to push it down.

It’s one thing to think about what the press will say when the story breaks; it’s another to think about the people I spent months cozying up to as Scarlett Page finding out.

How are they going to react when they realize she wasn’t real?

Silas and Davey came up with a carefully crafted story to soften the fallout, which they’ll leak to the press in an hour.

The official story is that I was a private cybersecurity advisor who used pseudonyms, like Scarlett Page, while consulting on high-profile cases.

Silas had hired me under that alias to handle some of his personal security concerns, and over time, our relationship evolved.

When my contract was complete, I left, but I have since stepped back from consulting to re-enter the public eye under my real name, so that we can be together.

The whole thing frames me as successful but private. To really sell it, Davey spent several days building a digital trail, just enough to look convincing. Luckily, if the story were true, my digital footprint would have been limited, anyway.

I smooth over my dress again.

“Beautiful,” Silas’s voice caresses me from behind.

I turn to find him leaning against the doorframe. His black suit is perfectly tailored, white shirt crisp, and black tie immaculately knotted. The morning light catches on his glasses, and his neatly trimmed curls frame his face.

“Is this okay?” I ask, gesturing to my outfit. My voice comes out softer than I’d like.

He gives me a pointed look while crossing the room. “More than okay,” he says, cupping my face in his hands gently. “You look perfect. Thank you for coming with me.”

I nod, my throat too tight to speak. He lingers a moment longer, thumbs brushing softly across my cheeks before he straightens to adjust his tie as if preparing for battle.

Those words should fill me, but they don’t. Not after our conversation a few days ago, which left me feeling hollow despite my telling myself I understood.

It replays in my mind on loop. Silas and Davey had called me into the study to talk.

Davey spoke first, asking if I‘d feel comfortable attending the funeral services with Silas. For a fleeting moment, I was thrilled. They’d thought of me.

Considered how I might feel. Silas wanted me there by his side, in public.

But the illusion shattered only seconds later.

“This might be the fastest way to draw Peter out of hiding,” Silas’s added with a clinical tone. “He’s likely following the story, and if he sees you’re still alive and back with me, he’ll want to do something about it. The sooner he does, the sooner we can put all of this behind us.”

All of the progress I felt we had made, and the concern he had for my safety just days ago, vanished like a puff of smoke.

Silas’s reasoning is logical and practical. His team will be there, and the services are for invited guests. It’s the perfect, controlled environment to make the most impact. But his words only made it harder to decipher whether he wanted me there for me or because I make good bait.

“Of course.” I manage a small smile.

His returning smile is tender, and for a moment, it feels real, but it fades as the corners of his mouth tighten and his eyes harden around the edges like frozen dirt. Before I can ask what’s wrong, he leans in, brushing his lips against mine with a care that doesn’t disturb my lipstick.

When he pulls back, only a fraction of the warmth has returned to his gaze. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“Someone?”

He exhales softly, his jaw flexing before he answers. “Luis.”

It takes me a moment to process the words. “He’s here?!”

Ben and Corey have been gone for several days.

They were cleared to leave thanks to Corey’s automation.

Davey debriefed me on their departures and the deal they had reached to keep quiet about what they were involved in.

Given their line of work, I can’t imagine it took much convincing to agree to stay out of one another’s business.

I’d assumed Silas had sent Luis on his way, too.

“It’s the safest time to get him back to Colorado,” Silas explains with too much control. “The services will keep eyes elsewhere.” He pauses, studying me for a beat. “He requested to see you before he left.”

“Oh,” I murmur, caught between surprise and something else I can’t quite name.

“It seems,” Silas says, his tone quieter, “Luis has quite the soft spot for you.”

I blink and then shrug. “We’ve been through a lot. He’s a good friend.”

Those dark eyes narrow just slightly, but he says nothing else.

I can't read into his reaction. Jealousy is fickle. It doesn’t necessarily mean Silas has decided to keep me forever or even long-term. It may just be a fleeting feeling, nothing more.

“He's waiting downstairs,” he says, stepping back and gesturing toward the door. I grab the black peacoat and small handbag draped on the edge of the bed before following him out.

Silas holds my hand down the hallway and the main staircase. The only sound is the soft click of my heels until we reach the bottom. I glance up at him, but he’s already looking toward the formal living room.

Through the cased openings, Luis sits on one of the couches. He looks well, better than I’d expected, and the tight knot I’d been carrying for him begins to loosen. Silas and Davey promised to get him back to Colorado safely, but I still worried.

He’s alive. Intact. And if there are scars from his time in those holding rooms, I can’t see them.

I limited my contact with Luis after Silas brought me here.

Silas never stopped me from contacting him, but I didn’t need to hear the words to know how he feels about the friendship.

Silas asked me to choose him, and this was one way I needed to, even if it hurt like hell to do it to one of the only true friends I’d ever known.

Luis’s face lights up, his smile wide and warm. Like he’s been waiting for this. For me.

I smile back. Before I can take a step, Silas gently tilts my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. The polite smile he wears for society is firmly in place, but I see the tension underneath .

“I’ll be in the other room while you two talk,” he says, slipping the bag and coat from my hands like they’re his responsibility. “You won’t need these.”

I nod, swallowing the questions that rise to my lips. As he steps back and turns toward the adjacent room, I take a breath, pushing down the flicker of unease he’s left behind.

Luis stands as I step into the formal living room. Before I can say anything, he wraps me in a tight hug and I hug him back just as hard, mumbling into his shoulder, “I’m so sorry, Lu.”

He pulls back, meeting my gaze. “It’s not your fault.”

I huff a soft laugh, shaking my head. “You’ve always been a terrible liar.”

His hands resting lightly on my arms as he surveys my appearance. After a moment, I gesture to the couch and he nods. I settle beside him, taking his hand in mine the way old friends do. It feels familiar in a way that doesn’t need words.

“How are you?” I ask, my voice soft. “How did everything go?”

Luis sighs, his shoulders sinking slightly as he glances down at our hands. “The first week… I don’t want to get into it.” There’s a shadow in his voice. “But after that, it was fine. Honestly, it felt like working for Peter again. Just with a nicer apartment.”

I roll my eyes, nudging his shoulder lightly with mine. He smiles faintly, though his eyes remain shadowed. Silence stretches between us.

“You look like you’re doing well,” he says, though there’s a subtle question woven into his words.

I nod, but it feels half-hearted. Am I doing well? I’m not sure I’d even know how to answer. I’m simply in limbo, waiting to see where I fit in Silas’s life.

My hesitation must show, because Luis’s brows knit together in concern. “Are you okay?” he leans in, voice quieter now. “Do you feel safe here?”

“I’m more than fine, really.” I glance down at our hands, exhaling. “I’m here until he tells me to leave,” I say simply, though the statement makes my chest tighten.

Luis frowns, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he squeezes my hand, and I shift the conversation before the heaviness can linger too long.

“Thank you for everything,” I say, meeting his gaze. “And please thank Ben and Corey again for me, too.”

He nods, his expression softening. “They’ll appreciate that,” he says, but then his features turn thoughtful, more serious. “What’s the plan with Peter?” he asks.

I hesitate. “I’m not entirely sure yet,” I admit. “Silas and Davey are working on it, but I’ll let you know if I can.”

Luis studies me closely before eventually leaning back against the couch with a small nod. “Fair enough,” he says, though his expression says otherwise.

There’s a brief pause, and his hand twitches lightly in mine before he exhales. “Elena, I want you to know you always have a room at my hous—”

“Luis,” Silas’s voice cuts through the room. “I hate to interrupt, but we need to be on our way.”

Luis’s fingers contract as he glances toward Silas in the doorway, who is now wearing a coat. There's a short moment when I think Luis might not listen, but he suddenly stands, pulling me with him. Before I can blink, he is wrapping me in a hug that lasts seconds longer than it probably should.

I pat his back a bit awkwardly. “Let me know when you’re home and settled,” I tell my friend, pulling back.

The look in his eyes can’t be described as anything other than unsatisfied. “I will,” he promises.

Behind us, Silas clears his throat. Luis releases me, though his hand lingers briefly on my arm before stepping away. When I turn, Silas is already there, a hand settling firmly on the small of my back as he gives me my bag before draping the coat over the tops of my shoulders .

Silas guides me toward the front door, Luis trailing behind us. When we reach the entryway, I spot Cora, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Silas acknowledges her with a smile before turning back to Luis.

“Cora will be taking you to your next destination,” Silas says, his tone polite but curt. “She’ll ensure you get home undetected and safe.”

Luis nods toward Cora, though his eyes flick back to me once more, lingering. Silas pulls me a fraction closer to him, and whatever Luis was about to say stays unsaid.

“Take care, Elena,” he says finally, his voice softer now.

“You too,” I reply, matching his tone.

Cora gestures for Luis to follow her toward the garage entrance, and he does, the steps slow and reluctant. When they round the corner and are out of sight, Silas leads me to the front door.

The black town car waits just beyond the gate, sleek and gleaming in the October sun.

The clear blue skies feel almost too nice for the occasion.

Silas opens the back door for me with practiced ease.

I slide into the cool leather seat and wait for Silas to circle the car to the opposite side.

Cillian is looking at me in the rearview mirror.

“Good morning, Elena,” he says with a faint trace of warmth.

“Hi Cill,” I reply. Things between us have softened a little since I started working out with Jeff in the basement.

Silas gets into the car a moment later, but instead of settling near the door, he keeps moving until his thigh presses fully against mine. His hand lands on my leg, the palm firm against the fabric of my dress.

I raise an eyebrow at him, tilting my head slightly. “Are you alright?” I ask.

He leans in, his grip on my thigh tightening before his mouth claims mine.

There’s no hesitation. Only heat and something sharper as he presses into me.

The small breath I manage to suck in is all the permission he needs to evade my mouth, tongue and teeth claiming me.

For a second, I remember Cillian is in the front seat.

It’s too bold, too intimate—but the thought barely forms before it disintegrates.

The weight of Silas and the way he moves against me drowns out everything else .

By the time he finally pulls back, my heart is thundering. I force my expression into something close to neutral, even though my pulse betrays me.

A streak of dark red stains Silas’s mouth. I let out a breathy laugh. With a trembling hand, I brush my thumb across his lips to clean them off. He lets me, the hardness in his eyes softening with every swipe of my finger.

When I finish, his smirk curves into a real smile. “You’ll need to fix your own.”

I roll my eyes, muttering under my breath as I dig through my bag for my compact and lipstick tube. Silas shifts his attention to the front and gives Cillian a nod.

“Let’s get this over with,” he says on a tired exhale.

“Yes, sir,” Cillian replies smoothly, the engine humming to life as the car pulls away from the house.

His taste lingers on my tingling lips, and I focus on fixing my lipstick instead of dwelling on it. Silas’s neutrality returns, and he says nothing more. Whatever he feels, whatever that kiss was meant to convey, I know better than to ask.